


nothing's gonna hurt you, baby

by babyiknow



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: F/F, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:06:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27487009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyiknow/pseuds/babyiknow
Summary: She watches, one night, as Jamie peers in the fridge to find it barren, watches as her shoulders sink, watches as she makes her way to bed in her work clothes, her stomach empty, and she wants nothing more than to climb in bed beside her, lift the corner of the duvet and slip in behind her, to hold her girl, to whisper assurances in her ear, to make those eyes shine again.She won’t.
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie, Hannah Grose/Owen Sharma
Comments: 28
Kudos: 122





	1. Jamie

At first, Jamie tried. 

She tried to keep it, her promise, the one Dani’s letter pleaded the morning of her death. She tried to go on, to keep moving, keep  _ growing  _ without her. But the thing is- it’d been much easier to make the promise when she’d  _ had  _ her, warm and soft in her arms, twisting the bedsheets between them, the sun rising across her golden hair. 

After a while, after she’s run through the stages of grief, screaming and begging and tossing all of the photo albums off the shelves, she gets down to the heavy truth- she’s not coming back. She’s never coming back, and she’s never  _ touching  _ Jamie again, never holding her or humming in the shower or waking up, eyelids drowsy and low, ever again. 

Things get a lot harder after that. 

The shop, Jamie realizes, needs to be her first priority, but it’s a foot-dragging activity, the once passionate and lively occupation becoming a day-in, day-out rehearsal, the customers exhausting, the plants, carrying on like nothing happened, like the sun hasn’t fallen out of the sky, like Jamie herself isn’t collapsing in. 

After the monotony of her shifts, she closes up shop, but it’s  _ worse,  _ it’s so much worse, climbing the stairs that she so often did with Dani, lodging her key in the sticking door that Jamie can barely muster the strength to wedge open. She doesn’t eat, not much, anymore, she can barely cook pasta sauce, for Christ’s sake, and she can’t bear to face the restaurants in town, ones she and Dani had frequented, before- 

Well,  _ before _ . Jamie keeps the lights off, showering quickly before filling the tub, the sink, and she shoves an, admittedly, new copy of  _ Little Women,  _ Dani’s favorite, in the door, not risking the worn, loved pages of Dani’s copy that rests untouched on the left nightstand. Jamie runs a finger over it, and she cries,  _ again.  _ She cries a lot, considering. She thought she’d grow out of it, that she’d become numb to it, but she hasn’t, not yet. 

Owen calls, sometimes, and she knows he’s worried about her. 

“Jamie, dear, how are you?” His voice reminds her of Hannah’s, supportive and worried, and she does her best to perk her own up, for his sake. 

“Business is doing well,” She supplies.  _ Good, surface level. Don’t say her name.  _ It will all go over smoothly, then, if he doesn’t bring it up, if he doesn’t say her name- 

“No, Jamie, how are  _ you?  _ It’s been a year, since- since, Da-” 

_ “No!”  _ Jamie cuts him off, rushes to quiet him, to stop him, but her brain completes the second syllable, and it’s all she can hear now, all she can see- Dani’s laugh, her fluffy hair, the  _ lines  _ she was developing in the corners of her eyes, and it’s too much. 

“Oh  _ no,”  _ she moans, and she slides down the wall, the phone clattering out of her hand, the images, memories taking over, and distantly, she hears Owen’s frantic calls of her name, the phone hanging off the wall, but she doesn’t register, doesn’t pick it back up, and soon enough, the line goes dead, and Jamie’s alone,  _ again,  _ curled into a ball on the kitchen floor, tears leaking quietly from her eyes onto the cold tiles. 

Owen is there, two days later, on her doorstep, a duffel slung over his shoulder, eyes tired with worry and lack of sleep. 

` “Oh, _Jamie,”_ He rushes forward, and scoops her into his arms, frowning at her scrawny frame. 

“Owen,” She greets, and tries to school her expression into one more enthusiastic. “What brings you ‘round this side of the pond?” She winces at how casual it is, like she doesn’t know why he’s here, like she’s not imploding further into herself every day that passes without Dani. 

“Jamie, come on.” He looks upset, disappointed, and Jamie scoffs at the sight, because he doesn’t  _ know,  _ he just doesn’t, he couldn’t ever know how she feels. 

“ _ God _ , Owen, what do you want me to say? I’m doing  _ great,  _ is that it? Look, you didn’t have to come all this way. She’s gone, and it’s not great, and it’s not  _ ever _ going to be again, so  _ just _ \- just-” She turns away, frustrated, and pinches the bridge of her nose, because she doesn’t  _ cry,  _ not in front of other people. 

(She can’t admit that she  _ does,  _ in the shop, on the street, in the stupid  _ fucking  _ aisle at the supermarket that Dani used to beeline towards, looking for those stupid peppermint cookies she couldn’t get enough of.) 

“Jamie,” he tries again, walking into her home uninvited, and laying a solid, comforting hand on her elbow, and she jerks away, unaccustomed to human contact ever since the year prior. He pulls away, too, glancing around the apartment, and- “Oh,  _ Jamie,”  _ His eyes fill with sadness,  _ pity,  _ and Jamie can’t take it. 

“What, Owen? And I swear to god, if you say  _ oh, Jamie  _ again, I’ll kick you out.” Jamie whirls around to face him once more, her eyes red-rimmed and wet. 

“You can’t- Jamie, you can’t live like this!” He gestures around the apartment, the sinks filled with water, curtains drawn, the dark casting shadows around their faces, both drawn with exhaustion, one soft and one gaunt. 

“Owen, it’s  _ not living!  _ It hasn’t been!  _ I  _ haven’t been. And I get it, I should move on,  _ well I can’t!  _ Not when she’s here, not when she’s  _ everywhere,  _ in  _ everything,  _ in  _ every way  _ except the one way it’d matter!” Her voice is strangled, tears choking every word further, and she collapses on the couch, burying her head in her hands to keep the sobs from wracking her tiny frame. 

Owen lowers himself to sit beside her, and wraps a hesitant arm around her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry.” He says it quietly, reverently, like he’s confronting a wounded animal. She shakes her head. 

“Don’t worry about it, mate, I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have yelled.” She turns and looks at him, and he smiles that same, familiar goofy smile, his moustache framing his upper lip, and she musters one in return, before leaning back, her head against his chest. 

“You didn’t have to come, really. I’m- it’s gonna be fine.” She mumbles against the thick softness of his jumper. 

“I did, Jamie.” He runs a big, comforting hand over her wild curls, and it feels almost like it used to,  _ before.  _

Owen has to get back, to Paris, to the restaurant, three days later, but he hesitates with his duffel, pausing in front of the door. 

“I can stay, Jamie, I can always stay.” He holds her shoulder, almost as if he wants her to ask him, to beg him to stay, but she shakes her head. He’s spent three long days trying to fix her, trying to shove enough food in her to last until his next surprise visit. He frowned worriedly at the sight of her empty refrigerator, and she just shrugged, pulling her sweater tighter around herself. 

“Owen,  _ go.  _ You know I’ll be fine. ‘Sides, the restaurant needs you.” He pauses again, and Jamie chuckles, the sound foreign and a bit empty. She pushes at his shoulder, and he gives her a reluctant smile. 

“Okay, alright. You know where to reach me, Jamie. I can visit any time. Seriously.” He gives her a stern, (fond, caring) look, and she nods, and coughs into her fist. 

“I know, mate. Sorry to worry you, next time we’ll visit properly.” Owen seems to brighten at the mention of a next time, and he steps onto the sidewalk, from the shop’s threshold. 

“Next time.” He smiles, and calls for a taxi, and Jamie waves once he’s in the car. 

Next time. 


	2. Dani

Dani watches her sleep, for a minute or so, before she leaves. 

More than anything, she’d like to stay, to kiss Jamie awake, to pull the brunette closer to her and giggle into her mouth and feel the sunrise on her shoulders. 

But she can’t. She pulls a jacket over her dress, the black one she had bought for Hannah’s funeral, the only piece of clothing she has that isn’t saturated in good memories, that isn’t blended in a mixture of her and Jamie’s scents. The dress is cold, thin, and it turned Jamie’s mouth down when she wore it the first time, like an omen. 

“Bye, baby,” She whispers, before slipping out of the apartment quietly. 

Drowning  _ hurts,  _ the water filling her oxygen-hungry lungs, it burns and it sends her into a wide eyed panic, and she feels the whole thing. Not once does the Lady take over, it’s  _ her  _ the whole time. She tries to think of Jamie in her last minutes, before her vision blacks and her body sinks. 

And she wakes. 

She promised, in her letter, that she would visit her. Jamie, her Jamie, and she does. She visits all of them, always invisible, never showing herself. She made Jamie promise in return to keep going, to find  _ something.  _

Her heart swells with pride for her  _ baby,  _ her poor, strong,  _ Jamie,  _ who is trying so hard, being  _ so brave,  _ who buys crappy TV dinners from the supermarket and heats them up in the microwave and eats them in silence, staring blankly at the wall across from the kitchen table. She silently encourages her, wills her love to the brunette when she sells her first flowers since the death, since  _ her  _ death, and her heart breaks when Jamie has to rush to the back room as soon as the customer leaves, to heave out heavy sobs and grab onto the shelf for support. 

She watches as Jamie tears their apartment apart, swiping each surface clean,  _ searching  _ for something to ease the pain she’s caused. She watches as Jamie puts it back together, hands lingering on everything, eyes red with remorse and sorrow. 

It starts with the water. Jamie fills the bathtub, one night, in a desperate attempt at relaxation, but instead ends up standing in front of the tub, staring into the glassy water with intention, and Dani understands, she’s looking for  _ her,  _ she thinks this is the promise, this is the deal, that Jamie’s held up her end, but Dani can’t. She needs to see Jamie move on, she doesn’t want Jamie anchored to a ghost, not bright, lovely, beautiful Jamie. 

Jamie does it the next night, and the night after, the sinks, tubs filled, curtains drawn, and Dani feels her desperation. 

She watches, one night, as Jamie peers in the fridge to find it barren, watches as her shoulders sink, watches as she makes her way to bed in her work clothes, her stomach empty, and she wants nothing more than to climb in bed beside her, lift the corner of the duvet and slip in behind her, to hold her girl, to whisper assurances in her ear, to make those eyes shine again. 

She won’t. 

She’s worried about Jamie. Her love is shrinking rapidly, the once small, wiry frame now miniscule, and her sleep is fitful, restless. 

Dani gifts her with dreams, then, memories, of better days, of sun and blooming flowers and  _ love,  _ and Jamie’s eyes are sad when she wakes up, but at least she’s sleeping through the night, and Dani will take any small victory when it comes to Jamie. 

Jamie sees a therapist, per Owen’s request, and Dani is proud of her. She’s proud when Jamie says her name, for the first time, without crying, and she’s proud when Jamie takes the prescription for antidepressants straight to the pharmacy. 

But it doesn’t get better. Not really. Dani watches helplessly as Jamie haunts their apartment like a ghost, watches as she draws further into herself, watches her eyes linger longer on destructive items, the kitchen knives, or Dani’s pink shaving razor, and Dani tries harder, to let Jamie feel her, feel the love, the comfort that is still hers, tries to show Jamie that she isn’t alone. 

Dani visits Owen, the night of her death, a year later, and Owen responds, almost as if he feels the presence, jogging into his office to plug numbers quickly into his desk phone. 

Jamie isn’t doing well. She’s on the couch, staring at the dry, dead plant hanging next to the TV, one of many that Jamie let wither with her love, brown and covered in dust. 

Owen’s call only makes it worse, only makes Jamie address it, and Dani is starting to feel increasingly desperate.  _ If only she had stayed,  _ she finds herself thinking. 

Dani’s ghost body flushes with relief when Jamie falls into Owen’s arms. She  _ needs  _ someone, Jamie needs someone to care, someone to comfort her and love her and  _ touch  _ her. She sees Jamie brighten a bit with the attention, like a houseplant that hasn’t been watered in a week, but it’s over too soon. The three days end, and Jamie falls back, once again. 

Dani’s visiting the children, one day, when she feels it. She’s watching the two, gangly preteens now, chasing each other around the schoolyard, when it happens. 

A deep pit forms in her stomach, the heavy, aching feeling that  _ something is wrong,  _ and she immediately goes to find Jamie. 

It’s not hard, and Dani wouldn’t be worried- the storefront is quiet, closed for the night, and all the plants have been watered and clipped. The door is locked, thank  _ god  _ Jamie locks that door. 

The apartment is quiet, and Dani wanders from the bedroom, to the bathroom, invisible to the reflective surface of the water, when it catches the corner of her eye- a foot. 

A foot, sticking out from behind the kitchen table, and Dani rushes over. 

It’s her. 

Her love, her  _ Jamie,  _ convulsing on the floor, her thin hand wrapped around the yellow prescription bottle, grip loose. 

Dani forgets about being seen, dropping to her knees beside the brunette, whose eyes are opening and closing heavily, the stark green fogged over. 

“Oh,  _ baby, darling, why?”  _ Dani pleads with Jamie, pleads with god, even, her hand brushing over dark curls. 

She tries, on a wing and a prayer, to alert Owen, to send him the same feeling she’d experienced, and by some miracle, it works. 

The phone rings, but Jamie’s breath is stuttering, the convulsions slowing to sudden jerks, and Dani is crying, trying so hard to soothe her love’s pain, trying her best to save her. 

The phone stops ringing, and Jamie’s forehead is covered in a cold sweat, her eyes clouded and empty, so empty. 

Dani lays a hand on her chest, and feels the breath leave it. 


	3. Owen

Owen knows he looks crazy, to the common pedestrian, but it’s been a day and a half since his call went unanswered, since his stomach went cold and his hands shook with a feeling he hadn’t experienced since Bly, and it’s only grown in the hours since. 

He leaps out of the cab as soon as he sees the shop, and his nails dip into his palms when the “Closed” sign glints in the sunlight. 

Not bothering to knock, he fishes his spare key from his coat pocket, the one Jamie insisted he take, the one with the pink, glittery heart keychain he  _ knew  _ belonged to Dani. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, he rushes towards the door to the apartment, gawking at the book holding the door open. 

“Jamie?” He calls into the dark apartment, walking towards the bedroom, where the sheets lay unmade, but untouched, like a painting in a museum that he wouldn’t understand, but surely meant something significant. The tub in the bathroom is filled, still, the sink as well, and the mirror is open to reveal the medicine cabinet, and Owen glances over a few of the titles before leaving, walking back into the living room, when- 

“Oh- oh my god. Jamie, Jamie?” He notices a foot, quickly attached to a leg, a hip, and then it’s  _ Jamie _ , Jamie on her back, eyes fixed wide and stricken, towards the ceiling, a small trail of dried saliva pooling in the corner of her mouth. 

She’s pale, so pale, and so thin, and he feels his mouth gaping like a fish at the sight, his hands scrambling across their old, in-the-wall home phone, finger pressing the familiar three numbers, and- 

An overdose. 

Jamie died of an overdose, and Owen should have- he should have  _ stayed.  _ Or brought Jamie back with him. Thrown her into Paris life, shown her the world outside of grief, but instead- he let her fester away inside that apartment- that open wound, that- that- 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s lost them all, now, everyone that knew, that remembered. He stares at the picture of Hannah inside his wallet, and is immediately warmed, the same feeling he’d gotten when she’d leaned her head on his shoulder, sleepy and soft, and smiles at the woman’s small comfort. 

He knows she’s with him, watching his movements, matching them quietly, and this time, he almost sees the phantom smile, the discreet swish of skirts around ankles, and knows this is Hannah’s way of providing the little supports she can. 

He feels it in the way his chest warms, at night, when his mind drifts to the dark-skinned woman, the warmth like a smile, like the sun, like the taste of strawberry cake batter. He feels it in the way an almost revenant force pushes his fingers back when they get too close to a hot pan, or the end of an onion he’s chopping. These moments brighten his day, little testaments to their love, assurances that she’s still there, still hell-bent on loving him. 

Owen arranges the funeral, a small, sad thing, closed-casket, attended by no more than ten people. 

He wants to cry when Henry shows up, a pair of teenagers trailing solemnly behind him, their eyes submissive with secondhand loss, but not quite sadness. They pay their respects, well, respectfully, but Owen senses they’ve forgotten, forgotten the gardener, the older sister who scolded Owen and ruffled his hair, who double-checked under Flora’s bed for monsters. 

He wants to cry when a younger man, maybe twenty or so, stumbles in, introduces himself as  _ Michael Taylor,  _ and sits in the back, wiping subtle, quiet tears from his eyes. 

He wants to cry when he goes back to their apartment, under the name  _ Clayton,  _ when he packs up their photos,  _ so  _ many,  _ too  _ many to keep track of, when he opens the closet to find all of Dani’s sweaters and skirts hung up nicely, when he finds Dani’s familiar pink perfume bottle nestled between the pillows in the bed. 

He cries, hard, when he’s back in Paris, duffel laden with dozens of pictures, thinking over the moment he’d found her, thinking back to the almost transparent hand that had rested upon Jamie’s chest, the gold band on the fourth finger barely getting the chance to glint before it vanished, leaving a motionless chest in its place. 


	4. Epilogue

Jamie awakens to a light, warm on her eyelids, and she opens them, finding herself in the kitchen, but it’s- 

Her plants are alive, green and lush to the touch, the lights on and the curtains drawn, and- Jamie gasps. She’s there. She’s right there, so close, smoking a cigarette out on the small, fire-escape balcony. 

The mirage turns her head, and smiles, snuffing the cigarette out on the railing. She makes her way inside, warm light glowing through her hair like a halo. 

“Dani?” She murmurs, hands coming up to rest around the blonde’s shoulders automatically, but she catches herself last-second, hovering. “Is this- is this real?” She couldn’t bear it if it was, not again, not another perfect dream that she wakes up from, and Dani’s eyes grow sad at the question. 

“Yes, honey, it’s real. I’m right here, right here.” She says softly, so softly, and Jamie can’t stand it any longer, not one more moment of not touching Dani, and she bursts into tears, her shoulders shaking where she clings on to Dani, like she could vanish at any moment. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know I’m a coward, and I broke my promise,” Dani shushes her, bringing the brunette to her chest, brushing the wild curls off of her forehead, and smiles softly against Jamie’s temple. 

“Oh, my love, you did  _ so good.  _ You tried  _ so hard,  _ baby. And I am so proud of you, so proud of how far you’d gotten.” She pulls back, looking Jamie in the eyes. “My brave girl.” 

Jamie puffs air through her lips, joyful and sorrowful at the same time, but oh  _ so in love,  _ so  _ relieved  _ to be with her love again, to feel the warmth again. 

“I never left you, my love. I’ll never leave you.” Dani whispers into Jamie’s ear, and Jamie smiles, and feels herself bloom, forgotten seeds sprouting, and thinks  _ yes, I am home.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Wow um so obviously I'm PMSing pretty bad rn. Sorry the chaps are short but this did wonders for my need to vent so I'm gonna post it. Need a little heart wrenching catharsis right


End file.
